


Yeehaw

by TormentaPrudii



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Established Relationship, Fareeha and Genji are the worst younger siblings, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Justice Siblings, Light to Moderate Angst, Light to moderate sads, M/M, Series of Oneshots, Should be working on my other fics, Some continue, blackwatch bros, death wish Hanzo, prompt list, relationship progress snapshots, will add more tags, yeehawgust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-07-29 05:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TormentaPrudii/pseuds/TormentaPrudii
Summary: Short fic-lets for the Yeehawgust prompts. Centering on Jesse. Pairing is Mchanzo, ranges in sad to silly.Tags updated as it goes.





	1. Cowboy Greetings

**Author's Note:**

> Because my brain refuses to work on what it's supposed to. Here's my contribution to Yeehagust, McHanzo flavored.
> 
> No beta. 
> 
> I should be sleeping.

Howdy

The crack of a gunshot echoing against the small landing pad for the Orca nearly covers the zip of a bullet whizzing by Hanzo’s head. Hanzo doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give into the urge to return fire, doesn’t send an arrow into the throat of a man standing barely 50 meters away, an arm still out, the barrel of the revolver immediately pointing to the sky when Genji leaps in front of Hanzo, a palm out towards the shooter, his other wrapped around the hilt of his wakizashi. Hanzo fights back the scowl of disappointment wanting to surface. What a disappointment it is indeed. He’d hoped when he agreed to accompany Genji, he had changed his mind about refusing to take the life that was his by right but when it was clear forgiveness was still his aim, Hanzo hoped his foolish brother had surrounded himself with less foolish people. He’s comforted in a way, that this man would be so loyal to Genji, he would do what his brother would not. Should do.

This man knew the meaning of justice. 

Genji curses, stalking to the man. The man holsters his revolver taking the anger Genji throws at him with calm.

“You gave me your word McCree!” Genji right in the man’s, McCree’s, face seething anger.

“I kept it. Not a hair on his head harmed.” He looks past Genji straight at Hanzo. “Consider that shot your first, last, and only warning.”

Genji sighs, apologizes for McCree’s behavior, and proceeds to walk Hanzo through the watchpoint. None of the other agents greet Hanzo in such a fashion. Again he’s disappointed at least until Hanzo is preparing for bed and he finds a bullet hole in his hair ribbon.

\--

McCree’s eyes slide briefly to Hanzo as he enters the conference room. Hanzo wouldn’t call it openly hostile but the glint in McCree’s eyes is nowhere near the friendliness he offers the rest of the Overwatch agents on a daily basis. Begrudging contained disdain. Hanzo is used it after the few weeks he’s spent at the Gibraltar Watchpoint. McCree’s eyes lingering for a time on him when they cross paths, his eyes even sharper when Genji is near.

Hanzo, on some days, wants to laugh at the situation, each waiting for the other to make a move that’ll end Hanzo’s life. On others, when the memories of how Genji was and now is, burn into him like the brand on his shoulder, Hanzo wishes McCree would just end it. 

But it’d be too kind of an act.

\--

“McCree.”

“Shimada.” McCree doesn’t look up from the hologram he is currently dropping way points on with one hand, the other typing. A cold professionalism has fallen between them. Genji calls is progress.

\--

“Mornin’” McCree quietly steps into the recovery room. Hanzo blinks slowly up at McCree from the seat he hasn’t moved from for hours to the bed Genji is on, thinking he’s awake, the intended recipient of McCree’s greeting. But Genji sleeps on, body tattered from the battle. McCree and Hanzo also worse for wear. Genji was pinned down trying to regroup with the rest of the team. McCree and Hanzo had spun on their heels in sync when Genji called for assistance, racing back into the firefight.

“Good morning.” Hanzo finally utters when he pulls his gaze off the mug of coffee pushed into his hands, to McCree who settles in a chair on the other side of Genji’s bed.

\--

“Salud.”

“Kanpai.”

The drink is shit but they are alive with adrenaline thrumming in their veins. They are exhausted and bleeding, not severely, in a safehouse after being chased halfway across the metropolis they were running an undercover operation in. They succeeded but their getaway wasn’t as clean as had been planned. Hanzo passes the bottle back to McCree, leaning his head against the wall they are both seated against. 

In his borderline delirious state, highlights of the night coming at him.

McCree and him standing over the mercs who tried to ambush them in an alleyway they fought off together perfectly in tune with one another, his spectacular shots from firing out of the sunroof of a car at their pursuers, jumping out of a window hundreds of feet above the ground pulling McCree with him, McCree’s wide sharp smile as he drove, redlining the engine through the city's roads, weaving between traffic. 

Hanzo laughs reaching for the bottle, McCree raising an eyebrow, a smirk of his own sliding into place, passing it him

\--

Hanzo rolls over and Jesse is already awake. Unusual since they started to share a bed, both sleeping longer and sounder. But Hanzo isn’t going to argue against or question that sleepy smile. Jesse reaches a hand up to caress the side of Hanzo’s face, cups his cheek to hold him in place as he leans in to press a kiss to his lips. Hanzo turns his head to press a kiss into Jesse’s palm. 

Hanzo hums, pleased with how the morning is starting. “Hello.”

Jesse’s smile is brighter and Hanzo can’t help but return it.

“Howdy.”


	2. Home on the range

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse gets the bring Hanzo to his home but the circumstances aren't ideal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I don't know how to not do sad.

Home on the range

  
  


"My mama would sing right over there." Hanzo's eyes don't move away to look at where Jesse is pointing, feebly. Jesse doesn't blame him, too preoccupied looking around at the abandoned barely standing hacienda. Not the largest in any contest but in its hay day it thrived amd buzzed with life. 

The porch boards had creaked when they planted their feet on the property. 

"How do you know about this place?" Hanzo asked eyes darting every which way for threats. His hold around Jesse's waist never lessening or on the wrist of his arm around Hanzo's shoulders. Jesse's legs threatened to give out then, he grunted reaching a hand out to brace himself on the sturdiest looking wall nearest him. 

"It's my home." Jesse felt the small jerk of surprise Hanzo allowed himself. 

"Grew up here. Bought the land under a different name some years back--" Jesse groaned, his knees finally folding.

Now on the floor of what was the dining room in years past, Hanzo is trying to stop the bleeding from Jesse's side and leg, hand moving quickly, eyes furious. Jesse decides not to comment on it, his baby never likes it when he recklessly throws to himself to act as a body shielding. 

"Over there my pa would cook. Used to be a huge table here. All the ranch hands eating home cooked food." It might be from the loss of blood or whatever Hanzo doped him up on during the ride over here after the biotic emitter blinked out, he’s probably in too good of spirits given the situation but he hasn’t been back here, back home in so long. Either way Jesse lazily looks over the inside of the shambled building. The elements from outside have completely made their way in. 

“Should really clean the place up. My mama would be spitting mad, slapping a chancla at me.” He chuckles at the memories of when she would chase him around sandal in hand or a wooden spoon. She always laughed when she would catch him delivering light swats that annoyed him more than anything else. 

“One of these door ways got my first seven to eight years worth of growth spurts marked on it.” 

He holds desperately to the days of his youth before Blackwatch, Deadlock, and when the Omnic War finally reached their slice of land. Back when he would help take care of the sheep and the garden. Of early morning chores. His mama and papa reading him stories with theatrical performances before bed. The love he saw in quiet moments between the two of them. His eyes start to water, a pain in his chest having nothing to do with the bullets and shrapnel he took.

“Jesse.”

“Hmm?” Hanzo is holding his face firmly, peering into his eyes, eyebrows tilted in concern. He hates it when Hanzo’s brows tilt like that, makes him want to kiss them back into place.

“I said, do you have any supplies here? We won’t have--” Jesse stops listening, it's hard to focus anyway, thinking about kissing the furrowed lines of Hanzo forehead when his eyes settle on a patched section of the wall that is miraculously still holding.

“Yeah, there’s a cellar in the kitchen. See that patch? That's from when I let one of the goats in the house.” Hanzo moving to get up but Jesse flops an arm at him.

“Real glad I got to show you my home.” He gives Hanzo’s arm a squeeze, softer than he intended but oh well. “Sorry for the mess.”

“You will show me the rest later. I will be right back.” Hanzo sprints away toward the kitchen.

It’s then he hears his mama singing a classic tune from the earliest days of America's western expansion. He hums along with her.

_ Home, home on the range… _

Jesse wishes he could show Hanzo how the house looked so long ago. Show him the memories floating in front of Jesse’s eyes now, of his parents dancing some five feet away with the sun coming in giving them a halo.

_ ...where seldom is heard a discouraging word… _

Wishes he could show Genji and Gabe and Reeha too. But at least he got Hanzo here. Another gurgled chuckle escapes. Never thought he’d be able to bring his boyfriend to see where he grew up. Hell, this and the last year with Hanzo is more than he could have ever asked for, so he’ll count his blessings. 

_ ...skies are not cloudy all day. _

He sees his parents spin one last time before turning to him figures outlined in golden, each reaching a hand out, like they always did, to pull him into the dance when he was a kid. Jesse, smiling, reaches up to them.

“Welcome home, mijo.”

_ Oh, give me a home... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Left open ended so Hanzo can come running in to still save Jesse.


	3. Cowboy cinema

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo just wants to be a good boyfriend and help keep Jesse's spirits up with movie night, Genji and Fareeha just see a chance at payback.

Genji gives Fareeha a hard incredulous stare over the tablet screen she shoved at him.

“It’s not going to work.” He pushes the tablet back to her hands.

“It will.” She says earnestly tapping at the screen.

“He’ll never allow it. He’ll know it was us too.”

“Yeah, so? He’s got one and a half functioning limbs right now, what could he do?” She lifts a sharp eyebrow daring him to come up with a counterpoint. 

“Fine but if this goes badly it's on you.”

“Oh it won’t. Not if it comes from Hanzo.” She smiles wide and toothy, bordering on manic.

\--

“You’re late.” Hanzo stands aside from the doorway for Fareeha and Genji to enter, their arms holding up bags of food.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. He’s not here yet?” Genji strides into Jesse and Hanzo’s shared room. It’s bigger which makes sense but it’s also...nicer which bothers Genji for some irrational reason. Fareeha also looks around at the updated appliances and bits of furniture, a slight frown on her face.

“No, Dr. Ziegler isn’t going to release him for a few more hours. Meaning I have a limited time to get things ready. And your tardiness is unappreciated.” Hanzo dives into the bags taking out items, examining each of them for a moment, giving an approving nod to no one but himself before moving on to the next item. 

Fareeha dumps the bags on the small counter, twisting around to give Hanzo a piece of her mind but an arm blocks her and Genji takes point.

“Gonna let that one slide since you haven’t gotten laid in weeks and probably won’t for a few more because he’s in two casts and--”

“Like that would stop us. You really lack imagination.”

Fareeha’s face breaks into disgusted horror slamming her hands over her ears, “No no no, lalala, don’t want to hear about this, lalala.”

Genji also looking like he sucked on a lemon loudly continues over Fareeha’s chanting and Hanzo’s chuckling, “Anyway! We thought you might want to do a movie night tonight to help Jesse cheer up.” 

Hanzo perks up at this and looks over the small hologram display coming up from Genji’s hand, reading the list of titles. 

Hanzo had seen some of the more recent western themed films but it was Jesse that introduced him to the full length and breadth of the genre. But Genji and Fareeha know Jesse hasn’t put Hanzo through the ringer of classic westerns he’d put everyone else through over the years just yet. Hanzo hadn’t had to sit through the torture of watching movies over a hundred years old and extremely predictable plot lines whenever Jesse was incharge of picking for movie night. And for some reason Jesse shied away from the more modern films. Nitpicking on whether it was a true western and carried the spirit of whatever the fuck he called it. It drove Genji and Fareeha insane. 

Now is their chance at payback.

Over the years they’d collaborated and gathered the worst films ever made in the western genre. Unfortunately they’d also have to watch them to verify the proclaimed titles of “The 5 Westerns that nearly killed the genre.” But if it meant they could finally put Jesse through the torment he’d inflicted on them, it was worth it.

“We got popcorn and snacks and beers. Be just like old times.” Fareeha added, driving in the familiarity of a past tradition with a bit of sad wistfulness in her voice. 

“That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”

“I’ll forward the list you can pick from. You know how much Jesse loves westerns. I’m sure this’ll cheer him up.”

\--

Jesse’s smile is tight as he looks up at Hanzo. “I’ll take another drink, darling, if you’re getting up.” 

“Of course.” Hanzo gives Jesse a peck on the lips and walks away to the kitchen. His smile slams down into a scowl, eyes staring daggers into Genji and Fareeha on the other couch.

“You little shits.” Jesse hisses at them, not wanting to loudly and vehemently rip them a new one for the bullshit they just pulled.

Genji can’t keep a straight face or the snickering to say anything. Fareeha is able to gather her bearings enough to string words together.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about Jesse. Hanzo just wanted to cheer you up.” 

“And I'm sure he just happened to pick the most God awful movies to ever have been made in history by chance all on his own, huh?”

“You could always tell him, the most emotionally constipated person you’ll ever know that you don’t like his attempt to welcome you home with your favorite genre of movies and family.” 

Genji swears Jesse's eyes flash red but he’s too busy trying to cover the laughs bubbling out of him with popcorn as to not raise suspicion for when Hanzo returns. Fareeha just has her manic tooth grin. All three knowing Jesse won’t say shit, forced to suffer with a smile on his face.

“You’ll both get your comeuppance. Just you wait. Damn lucky I can’t do shit right now. Oh, just you wait.”

Hanzo returns and Jesse’s forced smile comes back instantly. 

“Thanks, baby.” Hanzo sits back down in his spot, pulling Jesse to half laying on his chest, new drink with a straw in position for easy access. Jesse takes a deep breath keeping his voice cheerful, “Let’s get the next movie going. What’s it called?”

Jesse catches Fareeha and Genji sharing a giddy glance at one another. 

“I believe it’s called Wild Wild West.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still like Wild Wild West.


	4. Saloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree goes to an old stomping ground. All he finds are ghosts with a warning.

McCree chews on the stub of his cigar, no longer lit and starting to fall apart in his mouth. He chews and thinks, eyes roving over the saloon he knows like the back of his hand. Years back it belonged to Deadlock, on the outskirts of their territory. He knows which pool table is tilted to the left, that regulars take a wide stride when entering, missing the floor board that creaks, doubling the cost of their drinks. He knows the names of all the bottles on the top shelf, never cared to know the ones on the bottom, they burned all the same. He got thrown through the front window at least four times. He’s played poker with Ashe at the tables in that building. When they planned to be something great, thinking they were invincible. Young dumb kids getting into dangerous things. 

It didn’t matter the time of day, the saloon had always buzzed with activity. Music was playing by someone constantly, low murmur of voices coming from the tables and booths along the wall. As a kid when he first walked in he had to school his feature to keep his excitement and awe from showing. An honest to God saloon. The novelty didn’t fade for years. 

He plucks the cigar out of him mouth and flicks it away. He crosses the sun baked asphalt and steps inside after a steadying deep breath of hot dusty air. It’s also the saloon he first ran into his future commander, who was undercover assessing the gang’s comings and goings. So many ghosts in one place.

Now as McCree pushes against the swinging door, it’s dead. Dead as the man in black sitting at the bar.

With sure steps, McCree, stepping over the creaking board out of undying habit, makes his way to the bar with the man perched on a stool. He doesn’t sit next to the man, instead he rights a fallen stool and keeps a healthy distance between them. 

“Well.” McCree drawls out. “Here I am. As requested.” McCree keeps his eyes on the deadman. He can’t see his features, isn’t sure he’d want to, a hood casting a shadow over his face. A bottle thuds on the genuine wooden countertop then slides across it, stopping perfectly in front of McCree. A glass follows shortly after. The bottle’s label a black silhouette of a gunslinger with  _ Ratwater Whiskey _ , stamped across it. Eyeing the path of the bottle, he sees another glass half full already set on the counter.

“This what you intended when you sent the heaviest encrypted message known to man, takin’ me on a wild goose chase over half the damn country? To have a drink?” Anger burns into the last of his words. “I ain’t got the patience or the inclination for any games.”

“Always with the attitude.” A hand, discolored and gaunt raises a glass into the hood, tipping it back, the amber liquid disappearing into darkness. McCree scoffs, taking his gaze around the room again. He sees ghosts of memories floating around. He doesn’t linger on them too long, not with an actual ghost of a man feet away. 

Ana broke the news to him when she and Morrison came back into the fold. She’d waited until things settled briefly, it’s a good thing too, McCree isn’t sure his heart can take anymore shocks. She pulled him aside and told him who the man in black was, the Reaper taking souls before informing the rest of the team. He felt no relief as he did with Ana’s return. Only a heavy cold, like an iron ball, dropping in his gut. A ball of guilt, anger, and pure grief. He drank himself stupid that night. 

“Talon’s coming for your man.” 

“He ain’t--” A wry chuckle rumbles from the black hood cutting off McCree's reply.

“Please kid, you two aren’t fooling anyone whose watching carefully, those that you are, it’s because of willful denial, yourselves included.” The reaper finally turns to him pointing the glass at him, face holding the barest memory of familiarity in it, scarred ashen skin pulled taunt with red eyes, hair much longer than it had ever been in his past life, greyed and wavy. 

“They’re tired of playing nice, especially now he’s join you and his brother.” McCree knows about Talon’s efforts to recruit Hanzo. He had been upfront about the matter when he joined Overwatch. It added another point of contention. Another possible betrayal waiting to happen. But Hanzo was true to his word when he committed himself Overwatch’s efforts. He remained honorable. It wasn’t the easiest of paths but in the end so much was gained for Overwatch, for Genji, for himself. An outcome McCree never would have foreseen. 

“Also your old friends are back at it.” 

McCree narrows his eyes. He’d heard the barest of whispers about Deadlock getting going again over the years. Ashe back at her old dreams of grandeur. It was something he put on a mental list, he’d eventually get around to, no reason to rush. Looks like he was wrong.

“Why are you tellin’ me this?” 

Even with the twisted damage the face forms a signature Reyes smirk. “Because I’m a sentimental old sap for young love.” 

McCree’s heart clenches hard at the carefree tone, a rush of aching want fills him. He wants his commander back, he wants his family whole, he wants things to be right, he wants to be done with the fighting and running. He wants things he knows he can probably never in his life have again.

“Look out for each other.” The glass, now empty, is settled on the counter with a soft thunk. Reyes looks at McCree with eyes trying to say more than the few words he’s spoken. “Don’t—” Reyes lets out a sigh, heavy and sad, the kind McCree heard again and again when disappointment filled Reyes, “don’t forget you’re a team.”

The ghost starts to dissolve.

“Wait! Wait, goddamnit. Gabe!” 

But the reaper fades to nothing, leaving McCree alone in a saloon with a bottle of whiskey and the ghosts of his past.

  
  



	5. Trusty Steed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo realizes he likes cars. Or at least Jesse driving a car at top speeds with a dash of danger. Genji regrets helping them with their pursuers.

Trusty Steed

Hanzo knows Jesse will be very upset later on, and hopefully if he plays his cards right he can distract him before his fury erupts over the team that convinced him to use his trusty steed for an undercover mission. He’ll make it up to him, somehow.

But now isn’t the time to dwell on that. Hanzo reaches back to draw an arrow from his quiver. Now is the time to make a hasty retreat. He ducks down at the sound of automatic fire.

“Hanzo, you plannin’ on doin’ somethin’ ‘bout them bastards tryin’ ta put holes in my car!?” Jesse twists around in the driver’s seat, right hand letting go of the gear shifter to snatch the revolver in the passenger seat, the left gripping the steering wheel. For Hanz,o for a few heartbeats time slows. He takes in Jesse leveling his revolver out of the back of the convertible. His is hair blown wildly into and around his face no windows to direct the airflow. Two-thirds of the three piece suit still remaining on him. He has that glint in his eyes that makes Hanzo’s knees weak. Jesse fires, letting out his perturbed demeanor out in an ear deafening ruckus. A ruckus that mixes with the roar of the engine, that reverberates in the hallows of Hanzo’s bones and the empty spaces in his lungs. His skin tingles and it has nothing to do with the dragons. Hanzo can only grin with an excitement igniting his blood. 

He’s jolted back, time unfrozen. Hanzo follows Jesse’s return fire with a series of arrows. He hits the anti-grav pads, a driver through the windshield, an idiot leaning out the passenger window. Around them lights blur together but one green blur makes its way to them, bouncing from cartop to cartop.

“Hard left. Brace!” Hanzo hooks an arm around the support strut of the car’s hard top, the only part of Jesse’s custom 1968 Shelby Mustang GT500KR out of harm's way, and lets the force of the turn press him into it.

It was all part of their cover. Having a car with wheels, states a certain level of wealth this day and age. Having a vehicle with wheels running on petrol is another higher level of wealth. But having a classic American muscle car from over a century ago painted in bright cherry red that’s seen only after the rumble of the engine is first heard and felt, lets everyone around know the two gentlemen stepping out are obscenely wealthy and they know how to flaunt it in everyone’s face. 

In truth, this car was stolen decades ago during Jesse’s Deadlock days. A joyride that turned into a prized possession he kept hidden for years. Second only to his motorcycle.

Though after the event of the gala going, as Jesse would put it, up shit creek, having the bright red roaring vehicle burning rudder on the streets may not have been the best of choices. Hanzo is sure Jesse will remind him later. 

Hanzo, however, finds he doesn’t mind the turn of events. He rights himself and fires three more arrows. He drops himself, also in the remnants of his suit, and catches Jesse peering at him in the rearview mirror. Hanzo decides to make the best of the situation and gives Jesse a grin and a wink. Jesse barks out a laugh before his face morphs with surprise. 

“Oh shit!” 

He yanks the steering wheel to avoid the heavy SUV barrelling at them. They fish tail before Jesse corrects the car. Side by side the two race down the metropolis. The window lowers and the muzzle of a rifle emerges. 

Jesse barely has time to duck, Hanzo using the beam for the convertibles top as leverage to wrap a leg around the handguards of the rifle. With a twist he wrenches the rifle out of its owners hands and onto the pavement beneath their tries.

But another takes its place. The green blur of light finally catches up, above them speeding along the side of a building. Genji lands on the top of the car collapsing it inward, on the heads of its passengers. The SUV begins to swerve before slamming into a storefront. Genji leaps off at the last second.

“This is going well.” Genji squats perched just behind the backseats.

“Oh yeah. Really peachy keen!” Jesse snaps out.

“He’s mad.” Genji turns to Hanzo. 

“It’s just for show.” Jesse makes an indignant sound thats cut off by Hanzo leaning over the center console to turn Jesse’s face away from the road, he kisses him fervently and deep. 

“Oh gross! Hey eyes on the road!” The two part, grinning a mile wide. 

Jesse finally returns Hanzo’s wink, slamming the gas pedal into the floor, rocketing them off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't want to do a motorcycle or horse, next best thing was a Shelby Mustang.


	6. Spurs, that jingle jangle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo just needs to hear that jingle, its his only way of finding Jesse.

Spurs

Hanzo’s familiar with the clip of Jesse’s boot heel and the jingle jangle jingle of the spurs, announcing his arrival or departure. A sound he associates with the coming of strong arms, a crooked smile, and words laced with affection. Connected it to the warmth that has settled in his chest after years of coldness. Almost as much as Jesse’s voice, the sound of his spurs is the sound of home.

If Hanzo doesn’t hurry he’ll never hear that sound again. He ignores his panicked heart slamming against the inside of his chest. He tunes out his lungs inhaling and exhaling quickly, breathless. He strains his ears for that jingle, the jangle of Jesse’s boots.

He’s at the edge of his sonic arrows radius. He can’t fire another yet. He doesn’t know which way—a spike of fear sharp and blood freezing stabs into his chest—which way they are taking Jesse.

Dragging Jesse.

Away.

Hanzo grinds his teeth. He can’t let this happen. He can’t.

Jesse’s call for help over the comm birthed a hysteria in Hanzo he’d never known was possible. He was running instantly. He was calling for Jesse to tell him his position. His dragons and adrenaline gave him the speed and strength to make across the facility the team was investigating inhumanely fast. Genji was shouting after him, unable to keep up. He climbed and sprinted and leapt. 

He arrived in time to see Jesse take the butt of a rifle to his temple, head snapping to the side. He falters, stumbles— _ jingle jangle _ —giving his attackers time to close in, another buttstock to the back. A kick to the ribs once he was down. His arms were wrenched behind his back and secured. He’s brought to his feet held up by two of the several mercenaries. His eyes roving at his surroundings slightly dazed when he lifts his head. He does a double take when catching sight of Hanzo jumping down from a beam, the blue glow haloing him reflected in his irises, in the visors of the mercenaries. Arrows raining down, piercing armor and bone. 

Hanzo tried to keep Jesse in sight. When he couldn’t he still heard the spurs as he fought, when he dug his toes in to sprint and throw his shoulder into a merc aiming a rifle at Hanzo, spinning on his heel to kick the sides of knees out.

Then Hanzo doesn’t hear the jingle jangle of Jesse’s spurs. When the fight was over Jesse was gone.

But there was a trail. Scuff marks and drops of blood. Two sets of boot prints, between them a set of tracks, the toe of a boot leaving grooves in the dirt. 

A sonic arrow soared as far as Hanzo could make it with the muscles in his chest and back. He saw, he followed. He heard the jingle jangle beckoning him to save Jesse. 

Until now. 

Now there is nothing.

Now he pleads.

He pleads to the powers that be who might be listening, for the first time in a long time on a rooftop, the sun nearly set behind him. It’s foolish, he knows far in the back of his mind. Fate has never been kind to him. But still he pleads. Pleads for a sound to ring in the air.

_ Please. Please. Please. _

Trying to quiet the dread and the dragons’ fury took the entirety of his willpower and then even more. Because the tether to Jesse is slipping from his grasp he does it, he digs deep. He has to hurry. He can’t let this happen. Not when he’s so close. Not when he just needs a sound to give him a direction to go, to lead him to Jesse. He closes his eyes, he focuses. To lead him home.

He listens.

They couldn’t be far. Jesse isn’t a small man. As dead—Hanzo’s heart stutters—weight he wouldn’t be easy to carry. And if they are dragging him, his boots digging into the ground, Hanzo should be able to hear it.

The jingle jangle. 

_ Please. Please. _

Hanzo’s chest starts to heave. He just needs to hear it. He just needs an echo of an echo, a whisper of whisper of that sound. That jingle jangle from the spurs on the boots his beloved wears. 

He hears traffic from blocks over. The last call of a few birds. The rustle of his hair ribbon. His quieted breathes. 

_ Please. _

What he would do, what he would give to hear those spurs. To keep every memory he ever has of the sound free of the fear filling him. To have Jesse safe and whole in his arms. He just needs to hear—

_ Jingle jangle _

Hanzo’s eyes snap open. He throws himself off the building and runs.  
  



	7. Lasso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse shows the team some tricks which then gets taken to the another level because Winston likes gadgets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I late? Yes I am. But I need to have drinks with the bestie so I'm a day behind!
> 
> Yeehawgust prompt #7 Lasso

Lasso

Frankly, it all started at a bet and a bit of showboating. 

“No he does not.” Hana and Lucio looked between Angela, Lena, and Fareeha.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I get being dedicated to an aesthetic but no, there’s now way he knows how to wrangle and use a lasso.”

“He grew up on a farm.”

“I’m still calling bullshit.”

Hanzo knew nothing of these skills but upon coming into the room midconversation he had no doubt Jesse had the skills. 

“Of course Hanzo would know if Jesse is good at using a rope.” Hana waggled her brows are him. The group snickers at Hanzo’s expense except for Fareeha who just shook her head and voiced loudly her displeasure about hearing any connotation about her brother’s sex life.

Luckily Genji entered soon after to regale the tale of Jesse taking on a Blackwatch squad one day, during a training session Reyes held on unexpected, improvised, opportunistic, and unconventional weapons. Had it happened today Genji would have rolled on the mats with laughter, the black ops member bound together by a single rope. Left alone with a hat tipped and a wink in their direction to figure out how to untie themselves from each other. 

Between the disbelief and unbelievable story, Jesse was unprepared for the calls of his name and barrage of questions when he made it to the common room. 

He chuckled shaking his head throwing an arm cross Hanzo’s shoulders.

“Why, of course I know how to use a lasso and whip. Who do ya take me for?”

This landed the group in the training area, Jesse tying a knot in a rope they found, they had no luck on finding a whip. He showed them some simple rope tricks escalating to more advanced displays of footwork and coordination. Pleased with at least this but not at all satisfied objects were placed around for Jesse to wrangle. 

But it didn’t compare to the story Genji had told. A few number thought surely they could reach him, avoiding the rope.

“You’re certainly welcome to try.” Jesse said with a grin rope spinning at his side. The brave few charged. Hanzo had no doubts of Jesse’s skills, yet the motion Jesse stepped into, the dance of his feet, each step confident, graceful, and always exactly where he needed to be made, Hanzo’s mouth dry, skin flushing with a tingle. 

“Bet you can’t catch Genji or Fareeha if she was in her suit.” 

“Genji I could get. Fareeha has too much distance. Be different if I could keep up with her but ain’t no way in hell you’re strapping me in one of those suits.”

Money appeared, bets were made, and Genji was offended by the odds he was given.

Rightly so when he ended up with the rope wrapped around his chest, arms pinned to his sides a few moments later. He demanded a second round. For a good while the two showed off, where in the end both had a good number of wins. Jesse calling it quits after he spotted the flush around Hanzo’s neck.

Days later when Winston approached Jesse with a project he’d been working on since Jesse’s display. 

“It’s a hardlight rope of sorts. It’d be powered by your armor and be set in your prosthetic arm. Retractable and can be dropped instantly although it would need to recharge before you could use it again.” Winston’s excitement sped up his speech when he got to the technical aspects of it. A lot of the hardlight specifics going over Jesse’s head.

Essentially they made him a lasso he would legitimately use in combat that didn’t hinder his combat style, give him a few more options. 

“You can activate an electric shock to stun or damage enemies. If you let it charge long enough it can cut through objects but that doesn’t last for very long.”

Jesse didn’t rightly know what to say. He hadn’t been expecting it. But he figures what could it hurt to at least try it out in some of the training sessions.

Turns out he’s rather taken with the new weapon. He requests some tweaks to Winston and Satya who was brought in due to her expertise in hard light constructs. The idea of a shield was thrown around but it didn’t catch Jesse, he preferred his roles as a marksman.

The true test was in the field. Hanzo was more nervous than Jesse. 

“Darlin’ it's gonna be fine. I still have everything else I’m used to.”

“And me.”

“Yes, I’ll have my own guardian dragon in the sky watching over me.” 

Then Hanzo truly was in the sky. He was plummeting. A blast knocked him from his sniper’s nest into open air. Off a sheer cliff. He had only the space between heartbeats to let out a surprised gasp. Yet there was plenty of time in that space to see Jesse’s eyes widen with fear as he fell passed him. Hanzo hates instantly that the last time he’ll see Jesse face it’d not have bright smile that makes his heart skip a beat. He closes his eyes to recall one of Jesse’s smiles. He’s flooded with hundreds of them and then of recent memories of Genji, of the friendships he’s made at Overwatch. It dawns on him that he has gone so far on his path to redemption, has gained so much to live for, he doesn’t want to—

His body jerks. Jerks painfully hard. His neck whiplashes, his left leg feels like its been dislocated at every single joint but he is no longer falling. 

He snaps his eyes open to see a rope of gold, taunt with his weight, lassoed firmly around his ankle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be interesting if Jesse had a lasso as a weapon ala Kingmen 2 Agent Whiskey style but it also helps keep friendlies and falling Hanzos safe.


	8. Big Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over time that big iron on his hip has gotten heavy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because at some point everyone gets just so fucking exhausted they can feel it in their soul. Heroes included.

Big Iron

Hanzo clips on his last buckle of his quiver, ready to head out for the mission. Entering the living room of the safehouse where the rest of the team is, he rolls his shoulders settling his equipment into place. Out of the corner of his vision McCree is sitting at the small kitchen table, the others are chatting around the low coffee table looking over the map a final time. No one is paying McCree any attention, it seems McCree isn’t paying attention to anyone else either. Instead he’s staring at his belt, the row of bullets glinting in the light, Peacekeeper nestled in the holster. It isn’t the kind of stare Hanzo would expect, not with how McCree cherishes his revolver, similar to how Hanzo regards Stormbow. No, this isn’t a fond stare of appreciation more like a stare someone gives a snake poised to strike. Hanzo sees trepidation in McCree’s eyes.

But whatever spell McCree is in breaks when Hanzo’s steps into the space between the living room and kitchen. He swipes up the belt and wraps it around his waist. He faces changes, masks the deep furrow of his brows and the grim line his lips had formed. Now its bright, a hint of smile showing. He adjusts the belts into place, the revolver on his hip. 

Hanzo wants to ask, wants to know why McCree would look at his weapon like that, what hesitation was claiming his thoughts. The mission was well prepared one of the better ones of late so what was it?

“Somethin’ on my face?” McCree steps around the table, the two joining the rest of the team.

“Just that untamed nest you call a beard.” Hanzo decides to stay within the parameters of their new friendship that allows for playful banter and sniping light jabs at each other. No place for questions about the thoughts that make McCree stare at his revolver as if he were scared of it.

Hanzo doesn’t see that stare again for a long time but then he starts to see it nearly every time McCree gears up. He pauses and just stares at the revolver in the holster for a second, a minute, a few minutes, each time growing longer and longer. His face growing darker and darker. Finally Hanzo has the ground to stand on to ask, months later when their friendship grew into something more. 

He decides to ask when Jesse is sitting at the table in their room, his elbows digging into his knees, fingers steepled pressed against his lips. Of course, Jesse beats him on the draw.

“I...I remember, long time ago, as a kid listenin’ to one of them old cowboy ballads.” Jesse isn’t looking at Hanzo, but at Peacekeeper when he speaks with a tiredness that cracks both his voice and breaks Hanzo’s heart. “‘Bout a ranger ridin’ into town, huntin’ an outlaw. And not a soul dared to ask him anythin’, on account of the big iron,” he pulls Peacekeeper free, holding it gently in both hands, “the big iron on his hip. He caught, well, killed, the outlaw in the end. I wanted to be that ranger so bad growing up.”

A huff of a laugh turns into a heavy sigh, “Thought I was there for a bit, back in Blackwatch, huntin’ terrorists and the like. Peacekeeper, my big iron, strapped to my hip. Told Reyes just that one time and all he said was, just wait till it starts to get heavy. Took me years to realize what he meant. Sonuvabitch was right, like always, cos’ every time I pick it up, before every mission we do, it's so  _ damn heavy _ .” Jesse’s face is starting to crumble, gazing at the revolver, his grip steadily getting tighter around it. “Especially now I know whose name is on the bullets.”

His grip turns knuckle white, Hanzo can hear the metal of his hand and the weapon grinding together. Jesse’s body tensing, shoulders hunching, lip curling up in anger, jaw clenched in helplessness. Then he curls forward in the chair, a shaky breath pushed through his lips to mask the pained sob making his shoulders tremble.

“I don’t know how long I keep doin’ this, keep carryin’ this weight.” The words are muffled by the table and his hands but Hanzo makes them out.

“I’m so tired.” With a small thunk, the revolver rests on the table, Jesse finally does look up at Hanzo, eyes rimmed red and wet, hands free to drag down then press against his face. “So damn tired.”

Hanzo wraps Jesse in his arms, pulls his face to his chest, Jesse goes willing, clinging to Hanzo’s shirt. There aren’t any words to give, Hanzo knows this because he’s had the same heavy exhaustion in his soul before. The kind that makes a man wonder if it's all for not, question his past choices, driving him to either walk away and live with the regrets or keep going until he buckles under the weight of it all. 

He can’t make that choice for Jesse. All he can do is hold him tight, card his fingers through his hair, rub circles on his broad back to show him he’s loved. He’s not alone. He doesn’t have to pick up that big iron, not if he doesn’t want to.


	9. Ghost Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse has ghosts haunting him at an old Blackwatch watchpoint it'll take something special to chase them away.

Ghosttown

The watchpoint was completely deserted. Blackwatch’s ghosttown of a complex. McCree gave a sigh, lighting his cigar after the Orca left the air finally allowed to still. Wasn’t much of an effort getting the basics going, water and electricity, a bit more effort was needed chasing out any critters in at least one section where he’d be sleeping. Keeping the ghosts at bay took the most effort. It wore on him more than he expected. 

Memories both good and bad haunting him all hours of the day and night. He hears the ghosts laughing, echoing from the common room. A place of numerous poker and movie nights. Beer pong tournaments. Unexpected bouts of wrestling for no other reason than the agents were bored, drunk, and needed an outlet. He hears shouting of whoever was on duty that night chasing someone, usually himself, down the hallways. These ghosts swirled around him and kept him company as he cleaned and gathered the information Athena needed. They make him smile and shake his head at how foolish and wild he’d been when he was young. They make his heart ache with loss.

But not all the ghosts are kind. Some are having shouting matches, voices carrying across the command center, shaking the wall. His and Reyes’ voices. After Rome. Venice. When he finally decided to leave. In the hanger streaks of blood from when Genji half carried him off an Orca to the med-bay or when he carried Genji. On the edge of his sight or hearing he’ll see a shape or hear a whisper. It catches him off guard every time, every time he snaps his head to look, already knowing he’ll find nothing but he can’t stop himself. 

These ghosts have him waking up sweating through his sheets, frantically looking around pointing Peacekeeper at the ghosts drifting in and out of the building. 

But he endures them. He uses whiskey and hard labor to shut out the ones clawing at his back. 

The day Hanzo arrives, Jesse greets him on the landing pad, dark circles under his eyes. He hugs him tighter than he should, tight enough to cause Hanzo to pinch his brows together with worry. Jesse laces their fingers together, searching for comfort, and doesn’t let go as the pair walks through the area Jesse has cleared out. 

“Glad you’re here, darlin’.” Jesse murmurs when they are finally getting ready for bed. Hanzo hums with a smile swiping Jesse’s hair out of his face. 

“As if I’d let the opportunity of having you completely to myself pass me by.” Hanzo moves down Jesse’s front, planting kisses along the way. “With no distractions. Or interruptions. Or need to be discreet.” Hanzo’s teeth sink in to Jesse’s side making him hiss. Jesse rolls his hips just a fraction, pinned by Hanzo’s weight, a groan slipping between his lips. 

“Really now? No discretion? At all?” Hanzo hums again as he shuffles about, bringing his arms up to lay across Jesse’s stomach to pillow his chin.

“But first you must tell me what’s wrong. You look like shit.” 

Jesse rolls his head to the side sighing, swinging it back around to look down at Hanzo’s whiskey brown eyes sharp and burning for answers. “There ain’t nothin’--Ow! Hey!”

Jesse squirms under Hanzo, trying to get a look at where he was pinched.

“Try again.” 

Takes Jesse chewing on nothing to finally find the words. To admit this place haunts him.

“Lot a ghosts wandering these halls, is all.”

A grunt is pressed out of Jesse when Hanzo shifts his weight to crawl back up then manhandles him into his arms, Hanzo’s chest pressed firmly to Jesse’s back. 

“Hanamura is the same for me.” Hanzo says softly just behind Jesse’s ear. Jesse reaches out, clasps Hanzo’s hand and brings it up to his lips for a kiss. He tucks it under his chin keeps it there, scooting back into Hanzo. 

Together, limbs tangled they lay there, sharing warmth and stories of the ghosts that haunt them when they step foot in various towns around the world. The good and bad. A few of the stories get a rumble of laughter from the other’s chest, others have them pressing in as close as possible, clinging to their anchor in the present. 

Wrapped up and firmly held, a heart beating in time with his own, the ghosts finally vanish.

Jesse sleeps like the dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo likes being big spoon.


	10. Campfire Cuisine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse and Hanzo get some time to themselves to go camping. Hanzo realizes something that shocks him, just a bit.

Campfire Cuisine

Hanzo stretched, tensing every muscle in his body, releasing them with his breath, letting his entire being sink into the mat he was laying on. He didn’t want to get up which was fine since he really had no reason unzip his sleeping bag and face the chilly morning air. He did however, want to know where his cowboy shaped space heater went. Jesse should be enclosed in the sleeping bag next to him but the man is nowhere in the tent. They had a very rare event in which they could abscond from the world’s troubles and have time to themselves. Jesse suggested a camping trip. Hanzo didn’t care where they went, he just wanted to be away from everything except Jesse. He got his wish.

For the better part of a month the two traveled around in an old beaten down truck loaded with gear and coolers. They roamed the wilderness with no goal, no path set, making camp when they were pleased with the day. Some days they never ventured out, staying in their tent. 

The time together was much appreciated but Jesse’s skill of cooking for a campfire made the trip all that more enjoyable.

This wasn’t the first time he’d seen Jesse cook over a fire. Unfortunately, not being legal in any form of the word, Watchpoint Gibraltar has had its power cut off from time to time. The batteries, solar panels, and generators could keep up for a while but it didn’t take long for the agents to start grumbling about days and days of take out. Fareeha finally bullied Jesse into making a meal one night on the beach. She’d even offered to help get groceries and do prep. After the meal was done, Hanzo understood why she pestered him so much, he almost thanked her.

Now he has the campfire chef all to himself. The flap of the sleeping bag is flipped with a flourish. Hanzo tugged on a shirt adding a flannel overtop to keep the chill off his skin. He wondered what Jesse would be making this morning in his two cast iron pans. His favorite so far has been Jesse’s mother’s recipe of huevos rancheros. 

Ducking out of the tent he stops short to take in the sight of Jesse in the morning light. He’s standing a bit away from the campfire, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, back towards Hanzo, leaving behind the pans filled with the food making a mouth-watering fragrance filling the air. Hanzo has caught him a few times like this, staring out into the vast openness of nature with an ease softening the lines of his shoulders. A true easiness, not like the one he uses as a mask, forced into place. It’s a sight that makes Hanzo’s heart flutter. To see Jesse having some semblance of peace. Hanzo wishes he could see this every morning. A desire that surprises him, he who usually expects every morning to be his last, who never expected himself to feel this way for another, to be allowed to, to be worthy enough for it. 

Jesse turns at that moment, a smile sliding onto his face lighting up his face more than the sun ever could, Hanzo’s heart melts in his chest. 

“Mornin’ sunshine. Breakfast is almost ready.” He walks the few paces back to Hanzo, unraveling the serape around his shoulders enough to enfold Hanzo into it, who wraps his arms loosely around Jesse’s waist. 

Stretching up Hanzo kisses Jesse throwing the weight of his revelation behind it. Jesse’s caught off guard by the intensity, pulling back for a breath after a moment. “While I appreciate the sentiment, darlin’, it's just breakfast.” Jesse runs the pad of his thumb across Hanzo’s bottom lip then brushes the backs of his finger over a cheekbone. 

“Wasn’t for breakfast.”

“For what then?”

Hanzo’s throat seizes around the three words he wants to say. So he doesn’t.

“For bringing me out here.”

“Why of course darlin’, wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t. Come on, let's eat.”

Hanzo settles on the camping chair, watching Jesse prepare their plates, the three words still stuck in his throat. 


	11. Outlaw Jesse McCree, Wanted: Dead or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse thinks he was anyways an outlaw in some sense of the word. But now he's wanted in a way that makes his heart hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Days 11 and 12 of yeehawgust. Continuation sorta of day 6 Spurs, kinda from Jesse's POV. Trying to take a different angle on what it means to be wanted. 
> 
> Also this got out of hand, since my brain decided it wanted to come up with a whole backstory for Deadlock and Jesse's family??? I don't fucking know anymore.

Outlaw Jesse McCree, Wanted: Dead or Alive

Jesse knew better than this. Being a wanted outlaw for most of his life, all of his life depending on who was doing the judging, he learned to always be a step ahead of those after him, the law and the lawless. The first time he was truly caught doesn’t seem like a fair point against him. Reyes had led an international strike team to save the world against killer sentient robots hellbent on ridding the world of humans. Jesse and Deadlock didn't stand a chance against any team he formed let alone Reyes himself.

The Deadlock Rebels were not supposed to be anything more than a small gang in the first place. The Rebels were Jesse's inheritance from his abuela, a fierce woman who loved with her whole heart. It started when the Crisis began. When things began to get unruly for the common folk. When cruel people started to take advantage of the situation. Abuela and a dozen of her friends weren’t going to stand for it. They became protectors in their area. But then times got harder, so they grew, adapted, and by the end of the Crisis then into the aftermath the Rebels had control over a sizeable swath in the southwest. Maybe being an outlaw is in his genes. Because the Rebels certainly acted outside the law. 

“Sometimes, Jessito, you have to take the law into your own hands to save lives.” She had said stroking his hair and planting a kiss on his forehead. “Sometimes we have to dispense justice ourselves.”

Certainly wasn't what his mama wanted for him, his early years spent on a farm away from it his abuela had created. But then the Crisis finally reached his family’s farm. Then Deadlock was all the family he had. His abuela took him in, began to groom him to be the next leader but she passed on from this world then Ashe showed up with dreams of grandeur and a lot of money. So the Deadlock Rebels became part of the Deadlock Gang. And things started to go sideways. The Rebels had a strict code set by his abuela. One he tried to uphold on her passing. Yet little by little everything started to turn on its side until it was all upside down and he barely recognized what Deadlock was anymore. 

While the jobs they did had gained the attention of Overwatch, it wasn't until a few careful messages got into the right hands did Overwatch step in. 

Jesse glad in a way, his abuelas's legacy only slightly tarnish. And he had the possibility of a new start.

He doesn’t even remember who he talked to about joining Blackwatch, certainly wasn’t Reyes. He didn’t see him until he officially joined. After catching up on his education (not that he wasn’t educated, like hell his abuela would stand for that but polite society required paperwork he didn’t have) and then going through Blachwatch’s boot camp. Better part of a year spent in misery. At the graduation, that had none of the pomp and circumstance Overwatch agents received, Reyes gave a short speech. One part sticking with Jesse to this day. 

“Whatever you were, is dead, gone. Buried in the dirt. You are Blackwatch agents now and nothing else.” His abuela would have loved Reyes. The two cut from the same cloth. With him Jesse felt he was something other than an outlaw. 

He was a Blackwatch agent. 

One of the goddamn bests. One who would eventually rise up to become second-in-command in all ways but title. He wasn’t an outlaw any longer he was something better, apart of something bigger. He saved lives. He put criminals behind bars or in the dirt. He helped dismantle trafficking rings and terrorist groups.

He was justice incarnate, briefly, before it all jumped tracks and he was back exactly where he started. As an outlaw on the run.

It was déjà vu for him, seeing all the signs from watching Deadlock fall to pieces in his new home in Blackwatch. But this time he couldn’t do anything other than leave. It was of his own choosing and maybe it was a mistake, perhaps he should have gone down with the ship or blown high into the sky, maybe then he wouldn’t have this guilt eating at the marrow of his bones. No matter how often he chased after those answers he always ended up at the bottom of a bottle. 

Jesse had years of experience as a Blackwatch agent this time around. Far from his first rodeo. Of course there was safety in numbers, places and people he could go to or join up with, which he considered until Zürich happened. When the last of his family went up in smoke.

He went alone from that moment on. Always on the move. Always looking over his shoulder. Trusted a handful of souls and even then was wary. It kept him alive. Which is why he should have known better than to get complacent. He felt the disappointment from Abuela in her desert grave, half the world away.

Sure, he’s had some run-ins with the brave few trying to cash in his 60 million price tag once he left Blackwatch. He always scrapped by. Some went the easy route trying to bring in a body cold as their hearts. Which surprisingly were the easier ones to escape from. They threw all their explosive eggs in their basket for one explosion that Jesse could see a mile away. Others, like the ones currently in the room with him, captured him. These are the ones he worries about the most. These were cunning folks. Patient and smart. It’s these types of bounty hunters that make Jesse wish he wasn't wanted dead or _ alive _. Dead might be preferable with these folks. 

He knew better than to get comfortable. Doesn’t matter how many capable people he surrounded himself with, there were those who would find a way. Just like these had. They effectively separated him from the rest of his team. They weren’t even part of the mercenary group he and his team were dealing with. They simply blended in wearing similar enough uniforms to reach their target, reach him. Real smart. 

Of course, they didn’t count on Hanzo raining arrows down on them dwindling their numbers, crackling with lightning when he landed on top of them. It was one of the moments when Jesse knew without a doubt he was a wanted man, felt the weight of it in his gut. Wanted not for money or for his skills. Not for his connections to other powerful people. He was wanted by a man who could summon dragons into the air. Someone wanted _ him _ enough to leap down into a fight, outnumbered and outgunned, against all sensibilities. Hanzo wanted him. For no other reason than it was him, outlaw Jesse McCree.

Jesse tried his best with only his legs free to help Hanzo. To fight back and be worth the effort, being worth Hanzo’s want for him. But it wasn’t enough, not with the blow to his head making everything swim together. Not when he slammed into someone, his vision whiting out. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings again until hours later on the floor of a van. That’s when he had his usual thought on the subject of him being taken alive rather than killed floated through the haze of a possible concussion. 

His best hope is his captors have the strongest sense of justice in their bones and want to see him put on trial. His greatest fear is dealing with someone who prefers to play with their food, leaving just enough left for a positive DNA sample to cash in. That thought always turns his stomach. Being trained to withstand torture doesn’t mean he wants to go through it. Doesn’t mean he’d rather have a quick clean end. 

An honorable end, as the man who wants him so dearly would call it. 

It should be a comforting thought, sitting bound on the cement floor of some building in who the fuck knows where. Any outlaw would be ecstatic knowing someone wanted them alive enough to fight for them, a pocket ace to spring him from the predicament he’d gotten himself in but Jesse finds no comfort in the thought. He only sees Hanzo doing something stupid, foolhardily tracking him down to wherever he was and getting killed or caught in the process to rescue him, a no-good outlaw, like he deserves it. He only sees Hanzo dying in a puddle of his own blood. He sees Hanzo bound and returned to Japan for judgment by the remnants of his former clan. For Jesse that price is too high around his neck. He leans back and rests his head against the cold cement. He never considered he’d be a wanted man in this sense.

He was just an outlaw.

No one should want him this way.

Not with their heart. 

Fucking Christ, he wishes he wasn’t a wanted man. 


	12. Dashingly Dastardly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse catches Hanzo in mid-brood. He just wanted some ice cream. But he'll also take the opportunity to tell his friend's piece of shit brother to get his head out of his own ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****
> 
> This is def still in enemies territory for these two. 
> 
> Jesse talks about all the horrible things he's done in his past while in Deadlock and in Blackwatch. And I still hold to the fact that Blackwatch did some extremely shady, illegal, borderline war crimes at times. There's no details and Jesse might be stretching the truth to prove a point but still. He's also a good bit menacing but there's not actual violence.

Dashingly Dastardly 

Jesse walked, a bit off balance, a bit of a stutter in his footfalls down the hallway, only the dim lights along the floor showing him the way to the mess. He made sure to thank Athena for her kindness and tolerance of a drunk outlaw looking for a midnight snack after most of a bottle sloshing around in his gut. He hums a somewhat upbeat tune, steps not necessarily in a straight line or steady pace but consistently towards his goal. 

The doors to the mess opened just in time when he was half a step committed too early, almost slamming his face into the door. He tips his nonexistent hat to the ceiling, another quiet thanks to Athena’s impeccable timing. He meanders in, he’s pretty sure there’s some ice cream in the freezer. 

“Oh.” He says a bit flatly, kinda stupidly when he realizes he isn’t alone. Shimada, the elder, sits at one of the tables, a bottle of something Jesse can’t read, doesn’t really care to read, next to him. He can smell the percentage in the liquor from the doorway.

“One o’ those nights, huh?” Jesse knows that’s about the longest sentence he’s said to Hanzo since threatening to kill him if he tries to hurt Genji. He even hears how much thicker his accent is but there’s a nice buzz in his veins and it dampens some of his sensibilities. 

“I don’t need anymore of your judgment.” The words are snarled at him and Jesse doesn’t blink an eye.

“Judgment? Didn’t ya just see me stumblin’ in here?” Hanzo’s cheeks are a bit rosy he notices in the low light. This is definitely not the time to be getting in a pissing match. “I ain’t in any position to be throwin’ stones. Just sayin’ you ain’t the only one with bad nights.”

“What would you know of it?” Hanzo more or less snaps at him and Jesse is already done with the attitude. He just wanted ice cream.

“Oh, heavens above. Hear we go.” Jesse murmurs, just under his breath so Hanzo doesn’t hear him. He doesn’t listen to a word Hanzo is saying. He already knows it all, words Jesse’s said about himself in his mind over the years, hell even last night. He catches a few of the sentences of self-hate that are achingly familiar when he opens the freezer and pulls out the tub of ice cream. It's all a drunken fueled tirade flooding out of Hanzo’s mouth into the air that he lets wash over him. He starts laughing midway through grabbing a spoon at Hanzo’s last...insult, maybe to himself or to Jesse, Jesse doesn’t know or care. 

“--and what is so funny?” It’s funny because Jesse’s been in that exact spot, years ago. Granted he’s a huge hypocrite. He’ll get a good brood in, in private, he might add, but they are now few and far in between. But he isn’t going to tell this asshole that.

“You’re like a broken record. Woe is me,” Jesse pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, spoon dangling from his fingers, "I killed my brother. I’m the biggest piece of shit there ever was.”

Jesse gets a spoonful of ice cream, “Get over yourself,” he says around the spoon in his mouth. He’s suddenly aware of the Reyes level of sass that just channeled through him. Is this what it’s like when people say you turn into your parents? Well his surrogate parent. He doesn’t get to ponder it long since Hanzo is suddenly in his face, knocking the spoon out of his mouth.

“Hey you sonova--” 

"You know nothing of the things I have done! The lives I have taken, ruined, so they could be a reminder for others. The monstrous acts I have committed." Hanzo has his hands balled up with Jesse’s shirt in their grasp. He’s pushed him against the counter just enough to make Jesse think, he needs to sober up real quick. Maybe. 

"You're right about that. You  _ are _ a monster but here, you ain't the  _ biggest _ monster. You did something unforgivable, I ain’t saying that’s no small thing, but you ain't the only one in this building whose done terrible things. So quit trying to make it a goddamn contest."

“You thinking you’re the biggest monster around ‘ere, the worst of the worst among us. Heh, that’s real cute.” His voice drops low, lower than what friendly or charming calls for, lower into the depths of threatening violence. “You wanna enter into this contest? Fine, but you ain’t gonna win.”

Jesse doesn’t pry Hanzo’s hands off of him. He could, with his metal fingers easily grinding Hanzo’s delicate wrist bones to dust. He’d never draw an arrow again. No, he’ll keep his work to Genji.

For now. Instead he leans in a fraction closer. Tilts his head a degree lower.

“How many wars have you started? How many genocides? Sure Morrison, Amari, Wilhelm, and Lindholm, got you beat there. Ever think about the hundreds of patients Angela put through the ringer before perfecting that staff of hers?” 

Hanzo’s eye twitches. Gives Jesse his answer.

“Of course not. But those ain’t tales for me to tell. So here’s mine.”

"Oh yes, I'm sure you were quite the renegade in your time as the teenage leader of biker gang.”

“Were  _ you _ running weapons on your own at fourteen? Were  _ you _ cornered into joining forces with other gangs so you and yours might have a chance later on? Did  _ you _ have to make those calls at sixteen? Seventeen? Were  _ you _ calling the shots then or was  _ your  _ daddy?” 

Jesse’s finally free of Hanzo’s hold but he doesn’t move away.

“Yeah I didn’t think so,” he says stepping closer to Hanzo, into his space, crowding him with his taller frame.

“I’ve burned towns to the ground. I let the only brothers and sisters I’d ever have, be tortured to death in front of me. I could have stopped it, but I didn’t. I’ve ratted out my own, sending them to their deaths or to be locked in cages for the rest of their lives. I’ve made deals after deals with the devil. Then I joined Blackwatch.”

Hanzo takes the smallest of steps back. Jesse pressing forward, determined to make his words sink into Hanzo’s bones.

“Then it was ten years of government sanctioned terrorism. Assassinations. Hostage taking. Bombings. Interrgation by torture. Torture for the sake of torture. Chemical and biological warfare.”

Jesse has Hanzo pinned now, his arms bracketing him anchored on the counter at Hanzo’s back. He keeps his voice even and soft for this next part. “You hear  _ one _ voice screaming at night, I hear  _ hundreds _ .  _ Thousands _ .”

Then Jesse’s gone, out of Hanzo’s space. He’s back at the cutlery drawer, swipes up another spoon with one hand, the other picks up the tub of ice cream. 

He points at Hanzo with the spoon, shakes it at him. “There’s only room for one dashingly dastardly bastard in this outfit.” 

The spoon flips up and points at Jesse, “And I’m him.”


	13. Snake in the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse is pulling his old shit again and Fareeha isn't having it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justice Siblings keep each other in check.

Snake in the Grass

Fareeha sprints. Anger fueling her feet. She’d turned on her heel after finding Hanzo with red rimmed eyes and clenched fists, sitting against Jesse’s door. First she was gonna tease him, he must have done something real stupid or real bad if Jesse kicked him out of the room. But the look on his face stopped her trying to decide if she’s in a generous enough mood to give the poor sap a way to get back in her dear brother’s good graces. She didn’t expect to see heartbreak happening in real time while walking to her room to get ready for bed. She didn’t even get to ask what happened when he spoke.

“He’s gone.”

She bolted knowing exactly what Hanzo meant. She had to head him off, if she was fast enough she’d make it. All she thinks as she races to get her suit on is he doesn’t get to do this again, not on her watch, not again then her mind floods with curses in multiple languages. She calls out to Athena, which exit did he use. How long since his transponder hasn’t moved from his room. She has a solid lead.

Her boosters get her up high and she’s able to spot him, slinking from one shadow to the next. She lands hard so hard in front of him her suits flashes a warning at her. She ignores it and stalks towards him.

“Where the hell do you think you’re fucking going?” She’s breathing hard from running and from adrenaline and pure white hot anger.

He doesn’t say anything, cigar rolling between his lips. 

“Well!?” She throws her arms wide.

“It’s better this way, ‘Reeha.” His words are soft, just barely above a whisper. She straightens up, nearly recoling back. Is he fucking with her? 

“Better this way?” She leans in toward with an incredulous look slapped on her face. “What you think because Reaper is Reyes that you’re what? Compromised? Damn near half the fucking team is compromised in one way or another. That doesn’t--”

“I was his goddamn second in command!” Jesse bellows cutting her off. “That’s gonna go well when we try to get legit, huh? Everyone’s gonna be looking over their shoulder like I’m some double agent. Like I’m a snake in the grass just waiting for the right moment to turn everything over to Talon.”

“Anyone has a problem with you, Genji and I will set them straight. You know that! You know we wouldn’t let that become an issue.”

Jesse gives a sigh and shakes his head. “I have to do this alone.”

“How’d that work out last time, Jess?” It’s a low blow but she isn’t here to be gentle. 

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you Jesse McCree.” She’s shaking now, her voice is cracking with rage and heartache. She steels herself. Fine. He wants someone to knock some sense into him, fine, she’ll do it. She’ll pull of the gloves and use her bare knuckles. He can be pissed at her for the rest of his life because of it so long as he comes back to the Watchpoint. At least there she can watch his back. 

“You’re just choosing to be a coward. Again. Running off in the middle of the night. Letting Hanzo fall in love you, believing he’s worth being loved then leaving him crying in a hallway with a broken heart. Leaving me without even saying fucking goodbye! That’s you being a snake!”

She can’t go through this again. She can’t let her family slip away in the night. “We just got Mom back from pulling this. I--I just got my family back. And I’m not letting you run off again because you got your head so far up your own ass you’re filling it with pure shit.”

The sound of waves crashing against the cliff face is all they hear for a moment, then the next. After a few more, each other assessing one another, Jesse’s the first to look away though. Fareeha prays she did enough because truth be told, if Jesse wanted to get by her, suit or no, he could. And she’d never be able to find him. She can’t stand the silence for much longer. 

She needs to know.

“So what’s is going to be? You going to walk your pathetic ass back or am I going to drag you back?”


End file.
